Thunder In Las Vegas
by Kirk Hastings
Summary: In this double-length sequel to the original series pilot episode "Rolling Thunder", Hardcastle and McCormick once again travel to Las Vegas in order to steal back the Coyote from an old enemy that has absconded with it!


**HARDCASTLE & McCORMICK**

**"Thunder In Las Vegas"**

_**by Kirk Hastings**_

**ACT I**

**It** was early Saturday afternoon, and Mark sat in the Judge's den, slouched in Hardcastle's overstuffed chair, with his legs stretched out on top of the stool in front of it. A few minutes ago he had come in to take a break from working in the yard. He was dressed in a sweat-soaked t-shirt, ragged cut-off shorts, and dirty sneaks, and he had a glass of iced tea in his hand. He had just flipped the TV on, and the channel he was watching was starting an old black-and white western film starring Tom Tyler, the day's offering on "Action In the Afternoon".

Even though he was now going to law school during the week, his tuition paid for by Hardcastle, Mark had still arranged with the Judge to do chores around Gulls Way as a means of helping to pay for his room and board at the estate.

Just then the Judge came into the room. He had been out doing errands, and when he saw Mark lounging in his favorite chair all sweaty and dirty, his eyes got as big as saucers.

"McCormick!" he shouted.

Mark jumped up. As he did so some of his iced tea sloshed out of his glass onto the floor.

"McCormick! Whattaya think you're doing sittin' in my favorite chair in those old grubby clothes!" Hardcastle bellowed. "Why aren't you outside cutting the north forty?"

When he realized that the storm that had just blown in was only the Judge, Mark calmed down, putting an 'Oh, it's only you' smirk on his face.

"Wall, gee, Yer Honor," he drawled in his best Slim Pickins voice, "I didn't realize the north forty still needed doin'. I just came in to rest fer a minute after sloppin' the cows and milkin' the hogs!"

Hardcastle's face screwed up like he was going to have a stroke or a heart attack or something. Then the front doorbell rang.

"Now you jest stay right there, Yer Honor!" Mark said, as he sprinted past Hardcastle in the direction of the door. "I'll get it. It's probably jest ol' Mary Lou Barnburner from next door anyways!"

Relieved that he had gotten out of the room before Hardcastle could think up a suitable retort to his sarcasm, Mark yanked open the front door.

Now it was his turn for his eyes to open wide.

"Barbara!" he exclaimed.

Standing on the stoop was Barbara Johnson. He hadn't seen her since she had given him the Coyote almost three years ago, and left the area to go to law school in another state.

"Hi Mark!" she said cheerily as she came inside. She made as if to give him a hug, but Mark backed off and put his hands up.

"Barbara, there's nothing in this whole world I'd rather do right now than to give you the biggest bear hug you've ever had - but I'm pretty grungy right now!" Mark apologized.

"Still doing the Judge's chores for him, huh?" Barbara replied, smiling.

Mark looked embarrassed. "Well ... no ... not exactly," he stammered. "We're kinda equal partners here now, y'know. He does some chores, and I do some chores. We both work together to keep the place looking nice!"

Just then Hardcastle stormed into the entryway. "McCormick!" he yelled. "If you don't get back outside in the next 10 seconds and start mowing that grass, I'm gonna cut your pay in half and take away your car privileges for the next week!"

He stopped when he saw Barbara standing in the doorway. Mark just squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced.

"Hi Judge. Remember me?" Barbara asked, trying to suppress a laugh as she did so.

"Sure I do!" Hardcastle replied, now a little embarrassed himself. "It's good to see you again, Barbara! How are you?"

"Just fine!" she said. She stepped forward and hugged him (to Mark's consternation). "You haven't changed a bit!"

"Yeah, well, you know how us, uh, more _mature_ guys are - we sometimes get set in our ways a little bit concerning some things!" Hardcastle tried to explain.

Barbara looked back at Mark. "I still think he's cute!" she laughed.

Mark looked like he was about to throw up. Hardcastle preened, his face turning slightly red around the edges.

"Yeah, well, he usually gives a lousy first impression," Mark finally mumbled. "But when you get to know him, then he's _really_ a bear!"

Hardcastle elbowed him. "Don't you have some chores to do?" he grumbled. He turned back to Barbara, trying hard to ignore McCormick. "I thought you were in law school," he asked her.

"I was," she replied. "Just graduated last week. I'll be starting a new job as a paralegal down in Los Angeles in a couple of weeks. So I thought I'd come see you guys. Right now I'm on vacation!"

"Well, we're awfully glad you did!" Mark told her. As he did so he elbowed Hardcastle aside and escorted Barbara back out the door.

Hardcastle just stood there as they walked away, with a 'he just did it to me again' look on his face.

Later, after he had gotten cleaned up, Mark took Barbara out for dinner to Barney's Beanery, just down the Pacific Coast Highway in Santa Monica. Afterward they came back to Gull's Way. The sun was just setting, and there was a cool, pleasant breeze, so they settled next to each other on twin lounges near the edge of the bluff above Seagull Beach, just behind the main house. Hardcastle's pool was nearby. The blinking lights of various small pleasure craft could be seen bobbing here and there on the waves of the bay, and across the water Santa Monica could be seen in the distance, misty through the gathering twilight.

"Y'know, I _still_ miss your dad," Mark told Barbara. "Every day."

"I know," Barbara replied. "I do too. I think about him a lot."

They sat for a while in silence, just watching the bay together.

Then: "So why did you decide to go to law school, Mark?" Barbara asked. "That kind of thing doesn't sound like your style."

"What do you mean, 'not my style'?" Mark replied, a little hurt by the question. "You think I can't make it in the academic world?"

"No, no - it's not that," Barbara tried to reassure him. "It's just that you always seemed to be an out-on-the-street, pedal-to-the-metal, under-the-hood type of guy. Not the type who would be satisfied to sit in a classroom all day writing notes and researching convoluted legal cases in dusty old law books."

"Well, I've changed a bit since I met Hardcase," Mark told her. "He's shown me that there's more to life than just racing cars and living day-to-day and hand-to-mouth. He's spent his life helping people, and seeing that justice gets done, and that the little guy gets a fair shake in life. And he does it all within the law. Hell, he uses the law to do it. I admire that. I guess I've decided that I kind of want to be like him."

Just then Mark raised one eyebrow.

"But if you tell him I said that I'll deny it!" he quickly added.

Barbara looked back at him. "I believe you, Mark," she said. " I think you really _have_ changed. I've always liked you, but I'm seeing a totally different side to you now that I've never seen before. And I have to confess that I like what I see."

Mark smiled at her. "I really like what I see, too," he said. He leaned over toward her, and they kissed.

The next morning Mark and Barbara went together to the cemetery where Barbara's father Flip was buried. Once there she bent over and laid a bouquet of flowers on the grave.

But just as she straightened up again the crack of a gunshot echoed over the cemetery, and a bullet ricocheted off the edge of Flip's grave marker.

His reflexes honed from years of ducking bullets with Hardcastle, Mark immediately grabbed Barbara and pulled her down to the ground with him. Quickly they both scrambled around to the other side of Flip's gravestone.

"You stay here!" Mark told Barbara. Before she could do anything to stop him, Mark got up and ran over to an adjacent grave marker, ducking behind it.

He studied the cemetery. Based on how the bullet had hit Flip's gravestone, Mark triangulated approximately what direction the bullet must have come from. He ran over behind another marker, and then repeated this action, slowly making his way around the cemetery.

After he had done this half a dozen times he caught sight of a man standing behind a large mausoleum. He was holding a rifle, and from time to time he peeked out from around the corner of the structure, trying to catch another glimpse of his intended targets. He did not see Mark, who was now only a few yards away from him.

Mark picked up a stone and tossed it at a nearby marker. When it clinked off the stone the rifleman turned to see what made the sound, bringing his weapon up and leveling it in that direction.

That's when Mark, still hot from the idea of someone taking a shot at Barbara, barreled forward and took the rifleman to the ground with a full-body tackle. Maneuvering on top of the would-be assassin he threw a powerful roundhouse punch at the guy's jaw, knocking him cold.

He got up off the unconscious shooter, dusting himself off. He noticed that the gunman was young, no older than his middle twenties. He almost looked like a high school kid.

"It's all right now, B.J.!" he shouted to Barbara. "I got him!"

Barbara came running over, just as Mark was wrapping the guy's belt around his wrists, hog-tying him.

"Oh Mark!" Barbara gushed, hugging him. "That was a really dangerous thing to do!"

Mark looked at her. "More dangerous than getting shot like sitting ducks?" he quipped, smiling. She hugged him again.

Mark pulled the shooter to his feet. He was just beginning to come around.

"C'mon, let's get this bird back to Hardcastle, and see what he can make of this," Mark said. They headed back to the Coyote with their prisoner.

Back at Gull's Way, Hardcastle was passing through his den, still dressed in his robe and carrying a cup of coffee, when he heard the Coyote pull up outside. He went out the front door to find out where Mark had been so early, and then stopped dead in his tracks on the front stoop.

Mark and Barbara were just getting out of the car. Tied across the rear trunk of the car was a struggling young man, who was also gagged.

"I didn't know hunting season had started already," Hardcastle quipped, in his best deadpan delivery.

"Yeah, well, the vermin are out early this year," Mark shot back.

After getting a quick run-down from Mark on what had happened, Hardcastle went back inside and called the police.

A short while later Lt. Kelly Carlton pulled up in front of the house in an LA squad car. He got out of the car and stared at the man who was still trussed to the back of the Coyote out in the hot sun. Mark came out of the house to greet him.

"Mark, you better tell Hardcastle that that's not exactly standard procedure for bringing in felons," Carlton commented. "He's liable to get his butt sued for police brutality."

"Hardcastle didn't bring him in," Mark replied. "_I_ did. I'm not a cop, and I ain't got nothin', so this creep can sue me all he wants."

Carlton went over and started to untie the man from the Coyote.

"I think you better tell me the whole story here," Carlton said.

After securing the prisoner inside his squad car, Carlton went inside the house to talk to Mark and Milt.

After hearing Mark's story, Carlton asked him: "Ever see the guy before?"

"Nope. Have no idea who he is. And he won't tell us anything about why he was taking potshots at us."

"Do you really think he was trying to kill you, or was he just trying to frighten you?"

"I don't know," Mark replied, "but I'm kind of leaning toward the first one."

Carlton thought for a minute. "Well, I hate to say it," he told them, "but you guys have made a lot of enemies in the last three years with your Lone Ranger and Tonto routine. He could have been hired by almost _anyone_ to do you in."

"But what really bothers me," Mark cut in, "is that it appears as if he was trying to shoot _Barbara_. Now why would someone want to harm _her_? She hasn't even been in _town_ for the past few years."

Carlton shook his head. "I don't know," was all he could say in return. "We'll do a thorough check on him down at headquarters, and if we find out anything interesting we'll let you know."

"Thanks, Carlton," Hardcastle told him. Mark nodded his thanks too. Carlton turned and left.

When he was gone, Mark turned to Barbara. "What about it, B.J.?" he asked. "Is there _anyone_ you can think of that might be after you for something?"

"No!" Barbara replied. "I've been in school the past three years, miles away from here. I can't _imagine_ why anyone would want to _shoot_ me!"

Mark took her in his arms and patted the back of her head.

"Well, you're going to stay _here_ until we can figure this thing out," Mark ordered. "We're not going to let anything happen to you, that's for damn sure!"

Realizing what he had just said, Mark looked over at Hardcastle.

"That is, if it's all right with you, Judge!" he added.

"Sure, it's all right with me," Hardcastle replied. Then he got a funny look on his face. "But she stays _here_ in the spare bedroom in the main house!" he quickly added, with all the gruffness he could muster. "I don't want no extra-curricular hanky-panky going on around here!"

Barbara and Mark both laughed.

"Sure, Judge, sure," Mark assured him.

Later that night, after Hardcastle had gone to bed, Barbara and Mark sat together on the couch in the gatehouse, kissing up a storm.

"No hanky-panky going on around _here_," Mark whispered between lip locks.

Barbara started to laugh, when suddenly Mark shushed her. He craned his head up in the air, as if he was listening.

"What is it?" Barbara whispered.

"I don't know," Mark replied. "I thought I heard something."

He listened again.

"Maybe it's Hardcastle, checking up on us," Barbara suggested.

"Maybe," Mark responded. He got up and went over to the front door. He opened it a crack and looked out.

At first, nothing seemed amiss. But then, suddenly, the engine of the Coyote roared to life, where it was sitting in the driveway!

Mark yanked the door open and raced out. He reached the driveway in front of the main house just as the Coyote was pulling away with a loud screeching of its tires.

"Hey! Hey!" he yelled at the top of his lungs as he ran.

At the same moment, Hardcastle also came running out of the main house, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. His robe flapped wildly in the night air, and he was carrying his shotgun in one hand.

"Around back!" Hardcastle yelled to Mark, when he caught sight of him. He waved frantically.

Mark quickly followed Hardcastle around the house to the garage in the back. They both hopped into Hardcastle's '64 Corvette. Hardcastle gunned the engine, and the car sped out of the garage and shot down the estate's driveway.

Reaching the front gate they discovered that the thief had somehow shorted out the lock on it and opened the gate. The Coyote was already speeding south on the Pacific Coast Highway, and was now just barely in sight. Hardcastle pulled on the steering wheel of the Corvette and screamed out onto the highway. With the tires squealing he quickly straightened the car out and sped down the road in pursuit.

"Here - see if you can shoot the tires!" Hardcastle said, as he handed his shotgun over to Mark.

"Judge, are you crazy?" Mark shouted back. "You want me to shoot at my own car? I want that car back! It's all I have left of Flip! ... Besides, if I trash it Barbara will kill me!"

The Coyote was some miles ahead of the Corvette by now. After rounding a curve in the highway it slowed down and approached a large panel truck that was parked by the side of the road. The rear doors of the truck were open. A pair of men were just pulling two thick wooden planks out of the back of the truck. When the planks were in place, the Coyote drove up the planks into the back of the truck. Once the Coyote was inside, the two men pushed the planks back up into the truck and quickly closed its rear doors. Then they ran around to the front of the truck and climbed up into the cab.

Completely unaware of this trick, a minute later Mark and the Judge roared by the truck.

After they had gone past, the truck pulled out onto the road and made a U-turn, then headed back up the highway in the opposite direction.

**ACT II**

"Okay, okay, I think I got it," Lt. Harper said wearily. "Somebody stole the Coyote."

It was the next morning, and Hardcastle and Barbara were both sitting in front of Harper's desk in his office at police headquarters. Mark was fretfully pacing the room.

"I can't believe this. I just can't believe this," Mark was mumbling to himself. "I can't believe someone _stole_ the Coyote right out from under our noses."

This was particularly embarrassing for Mark, since at one time he used to make a living repossessing other people's cars.

"Take it easy, kid," Hardcastle told him. "We'll get it back. Don't worry."

Mark wasn't in the mood to be comforted. "Yeah, sure, everything'll be all right!" he said sarcastically. "Judge, I don't exactly remember _you_ taking that attitude when your official 'Wilt Chamberlain' basketball disappeared! Or when those guys stole your yacht! Remember that?"

Hardcastle huffed and attempted to ignore Mark's outburst. He knew the kid was upset.

Barbara got up and went over to Mark.

"No, really, Mark, everything _will_ be okay," she told him, stroking his arm. "Believe me. We'll find the Coyote somehow."

Trying to change the subject, Hardcastle addressed Lt. Harper again.

"Frank, is there _anything_ you can give us on this, no matter how small? _Anything_ we could use as a lead?"

"Well, there _is_ one odd thing," Harper admitted.

Now he had Mark's attention too.

"What? What odd thing?" Mark asked.

"The guy you brought in that took a shot at you in the cemetery," Harper said.

"What about him, Frank?" Hardcastle asked. "I thought he refused to tell you anything."

"He did. But when we were finally able to ID him I noticed on his employment record that until just recently he worked for an outfit located in Las Vegas."

"Who?"

"Judge, we're trying to find the Coyote and you're busy doing spotted owl impressions!" Mark interrupted. He turned to Harper. "_What _outfit, Frank?" he asked impatiently.

"A big real estate firm called Vegas Properties," Harper replied.

Mark looked disgusted at this apparently minor revelation. "So what's so _odd_ about that?" he insisted.

Harper leaned forward. "I'll tell you what's so odd about it," he said. "Vegas Properties is a subsidiary company of - Cody Enterprises."

Now Mark looked like he had just been punched in the stomach.

"_Cody Enterprises_?" he repeated.

"That's right."

Mark finally sat down in a chair. He just stared at Harper.

"Now, here's the way I see it ..." Hardcastle began.

Mark, the Judge, and Barbara were all back at Gull's Way, in Hardcastle's den. The Judge sat behind his desk.

"... Somebody at Cody Automotive has decided that they want the Coyote back. They realize that a fortune could still be made by selling it to a major company like Ford or Chevy, and having it mass-produced. Since they no longer have the blueprint for it, someone in the company had some hired thugs steal the only existing prototype so that they could use it as a guide to reproduce it."

"Yes," Barbara interjected. "My father always felt that the Coyote could be the next Corvette, or the next Mustang." She shifted in her chair. "But all rights to the car reverted back to me after Martin Cody was sent to jail, since I was an only child and my mother is deceased. Stealing the prototype doesn't do them any good if I still own all the rights to the car's design."

"Ah, but once they have the prototype, all they have to do is alter the design of it a little here and there, call it by another name, and presto! They copyright the new design, build a new prototype, and then arrange to sell the car!"

Mark was starting to think along the same lines. "And if they hire someone to pop Barbara, then that would make it all the easier to get their design through the legal process without having anyone around to challenge it as being a copy of the Coyote," he contributed.

"Right," Hardcastle replied.

"But who exactly is behind all this?" Barbara asked.

"It's certainly not Martin Cody," Mark interjected. "His butt is still cooling in the state can, and will be for a lotta years yet. Same with Rabbit Vetromile and Joey Morgan."

"Well, who is the new president of Cody Enterprises, now that Martin is out of the picture?" Barbara asked.

"I already looked into that," Hardcastle replied. "Some nobody named Johnny Saxon. He was probably promoted up from the mail room or somewhere, so that whoever is _really_ running the show at Cody Enterprises could pull any funny business he wants, and still stay incognito. Makes a harder target that way."

"That person is no doubt a close friend or relative of Martin Cody," Mark offered.

"Right. Someone who either has a financial motive in wanting to get the Coyote back for the company - which incidentally is seriously struggling since ol' Marty went to jail - or has a personal vendetta because Marty got caught. Or both."

"That makes sense," Barbara admitted.

"But how do we find out who this person pulling the strings behind the scenes is?" Mark asked.

"Simple," Hardcastle replied. "We put someone on the inside of Cody Automotive to find that out. And where they've hidden the Coyote."

"You mean like a mole?" Barbara said.

Hardcastle nodded.

"Huh," Mark snorted. "You mean a stoolie! Someone who would be willing to risk his life to illegally snoop through the records of one of the biggest companies in America, hoping against all odds not to get caught - and then, once having done so, to squeal on said company, inviting death, disfigurement, and/or dismemberment at every turn."

"Right," Hardcastle agreed.

McCormick laughed. "And who are we gonna get who would be _dumb_ enough to do that?" he asked.

Both Barbara and Hardcastle stared at him.

Mark stared back at them. Suddenly the light came on, and he jumped up from his chair.

"Oh, _no_, Jack!" he shouted. "Not _me_! I'm not doing this! Uh-uh! No way Santa Fe! Tonto not going into town for supplies _again_, kemosabe, just so he can get beat to hell again for the ten thousandth time!"

Barbara and Hardcastle just smiled.

"This is a very impressive resume you have here, Mr. McCormick," the Personnel Director of Cody Automotive said. "It says here that you were the personal mechanic for race car driver E.J. Corlette for 5 years?"

Mark shifted in his chair. "That's right," he said, trying desperately to sound convincing. "It was pretty much because of _my_ work that he won the '78 Outlaw Trail Championship! We've been close friends ever since."

"Well, that's good enough for me," the PD said. "You're hired. You start tomorrow. Report to Steve Sheldon in Automotive Production, Warehouse #3, in the morning."

After filling out numerous employment forms, Mark finally left the Cody Automotive Industries office building, located inside a large industrial park in Culver City, and walked a few blocks down the street, where Barbara and Hardcastle were waiting for him in the Judge's pickup truck.

"Well, did you get the job?" Hardcastle asked as Mark got in the truck, taking off his corduroy jacket and loosening the tie he was wearing.

"Yeah, I got it," Mark replied soberly.

"Great! Where would you like to go to celebrate?" Hardcastle asked him.

"I'll tell you what - why don't you just take me straight over to San Quentin right now, and we can make everything simpler by just eliminating the middle man?" Mark quipped with a lame smile.

Barbara smiled and hugged him.

Mark's first day at Cody Automotive was a Wednesday. Fortunately, he was on a semester break from law school, and didn't have to worry about attending classes again for a couple of weeks. The first few days at his new job were uneventful. He kept his eyes and ears open for anything that might supply a clue to the Coyote's whereabouts, and tried to get to know as many people as he could. Mark was very sociable when he needed to be, and he rapidly got on a first-name basis with a lot of the guys who worked in his department.

He was just about to head to lunch on Tuesday of the following week when a break finally came. He was talking with a mechanic named Lou, a young guy about Mark's age, and the conversation turned to Cody Automotive's money problems.

"Yeah, actually I'm surprised they hired you," Lou was saying, as the both walked across the parking lot to a little diner located across the street. Mark was wiping grease off his hands with a rag.

"What, you don't like my work?" Mark replied kiddingly.

"No, no, it's not that," Lou continued. "You obviously know your way around a car engine. It's just that they've been laying people off like flies since Martin Cody got sent to jail a couple years ago. Our contracts since then have shriveled, and they've even discussed closing us up altogether."

"No kidding."

"Yeah." They entered the diner and sat down in a booth. After they had ordered, Lou leaned over to Mark and lowered his voice.

"However, recently I finally heard some really good news. I know a guy in the front office who's assured me that Cody Automotive's fortunes are about to turn around, big time."

"No kidding?" Mark replied. He tried to sound nonchalant, but inside his every sense had just snapped to alert. "How so?"

"Well, the scuttlebutt is that we've just acquired a new car design that's almost _sure_ to blow the lid off the automotive market," Lou continued. "You know, like another Mustang. We're supposed to be getting the new design some time in the next couple weeks."

"Wow, that's great," Mark said. "Any idea where they got this design from?"

"No, but my friend in the front office told me they already have a prototype of the new car. It's supposed to be in storage somewhere at our facility in Las Vegas. I'd love to get a gander at it, but right now it's all very hush-hush. When they _do_ decide to make the car public there's gonna be some kind of a big blow-out at one of the major casinos, for the news media and all."

"Wow, Lou, that's great to know," Mark said.

Their orders came, and Mark scarfed down his lunch. He couldn't wait to finish, get to a pay phone, and let Hardcastle know about this.

When Mark got back to Gull's Way after work he found Hardcastle and Barbara in the Judge's den. Hardcastle was sitting behind his desk. The both of them had gloomy looks on their faces.

"Hey, you guys don't look very happy that we've finally got a lead on the Coyote!" he said, flopping down next to Barbara on the sofa. "What happened, Judge - your gold-plated retirement gavel go missing or something?"

"I just spoke to Harper on the phone," Hardcastle said. "The guy that took that potshot at Barbara in the cemetery is dead."

Mark suddenly straightened up.

"Dead? How?" he asked.

"He was on his way to the county cooker when a big panel truck came out of a side-street and broadsided the patrol car he was in," Hardcastle explained. "The driver came through, but the kid didn't. There were no plates on the truck, so they couldn't ID it. It took off afterward. They never found it."

Mark looked stunned, trying to take this news in.

"Whoever these people are, they're obviously playing for keeps," Hardcastle warned. "We're gonna have to be extremely careful going forward with this."

Early the next morning Barbara and the Judge got into Hardcastle's GMC pickup truck, which was parked in front of the main house. Mark came out of the house last. After locking the front door he came over and threw his suitcase into the back of the truck. There were already two other suitcases back there. Then he climbed into the cab next to Barbara.

"And what did you tell your new employer about your not reporting in today?" Hardcastle asked.

"Oh, I just told them that I got a job offer from Paul Newman to be his personal mechanic, and he wanted me to start right away," Mark replied.

Hardcastle looked at him. "You know, you are _still _the most facile liar I've ever known!" he said.

"Why, thank you, Judge!" Mark said, smiling. Barbara laughed.

Hardcastle pulled the truck away from the curb.

"Well, at least this truck will be a more comfortable ride to Las Vegas than the _last_ time the three of us went there, in that old '58 Chevy of yours," Mark observed. "After the first twenty miles or so that tin can was ready to split apart at the seams!"

"I'll not have you insulting my old truck!" Hardcastle protested. "She was a good friend for a lotta years!"

"Yeah, sure she was," Mark retorted. "Until the spit and bailing wire holding her together finally gave out."

"Ah, you young whippersnappers don't know a classic when you see one," Hardcastle mumbled. "You think everything nowadays is supposed to be used once or twice, and then disposed of."

"You know, neither _one_ of you have changed a bit in the last three years," Barbara observed.

"Sure we have," Mark replied. "For one thing, we're three years older!"

"But some of us are no smarter!" Hardcastle added.

Mark just shook his head, while Barbara had an expression on her face that looked like an indulgent parent caught between two quarreling children.

They drove out to the main road, and then turned south on Pacific Coast Highway. After threading their way through the various neighborhoods on the northern side of Los Angeles, they turned onto Highway 15, which goes all the way to Las Vegas. Once out on this main road they started making good time.

After driving for a few hours they crossed the California/Nevada border. They decided to stop and have lunch in the small community of State Line, just over the border. Then they headed out onto the highway again.

They had gone some distance out into the desert when Mark decided to pop a tape into the truck's tape player. After he did so, the speakers started blaring out 'Bad Moon Rising' by Creedence Clearwater Revival.

"Oh, geez, do we have to listen to that rock and roll crap _again_?" Hardcastle complained, screwing up his face.

"You see, B.J.?" Mark told her. "You see what I have to put up with? He thinks a classic band like CCR is crap! He probably would prefer to listen to ol' Fred Waring and His Pennsylvanians!"

"Turn that thing off!" Hardcastle insisted.

"Oh, all right," Mark replied. He turned the tape player off.

Hardcastle put his nose up in the air. He still looked like he was listening to something.

Mark noticed the look. "What is it?" he asked.

"You hear that?" Hardcastle replied.

Mark listened for a minute.

"Yeah - what _is _that?" he said. He swiveled his head around and peered out the rear window of the truck's cab.

"Oh, it's just a helicopter," he finally announced.

Hardcastle looked up into the rearview mirror.

"That's a commercial Bell helicopter," he said. "What's it doing all the way out here over the middle of the desert?"

"I don't know - maybe it's a TV news helicopter from LA, and they got lost trying to find a rush hour traffic jam somewhere," Mark quipped.

As Hardcastle continued to watch the helicopter in the mirror, he saw it come down in a straight line right over the highway, directly behind them.

"That copter's heading right for us," Hardcastle announced.

Mark turned around and looked again. Hardcastle was right - the whirlybird seemed to be heading right for them.

Now convinced that something wasn't quite right, Mark opened the truck's glove compartment and took out Hardcastle's Colt .45 pistol from it.

"Ol' Henry won't do you any good against a helicopter!" Hardcastle told him. Pushing down on the accelerator but not taking his eyes off the road, he reached under his seat and pulled out a shotgun.

"Here, try this!" he said.

He handed the gun to Mark. It was then that Mark noticed that bullets were striking the ground just to one side of the truck.

"They're shooting at us!" Mark shouted. Hefting the shotgun he started to open his side door.

"Mark, what are you _doing_?" Barbara asked him, sudden fear in her voice.

"I'm just going into the back to get a better shot!" Mark told her. "Don't worry - I'll be fine!" With that he opened the side door a few inches and squeezed out of it onto the truck's running board. From there he jumped back into the rear bed of the truck.

Once there he rolled over, got up on one knee and took aim at the incoming helicopter. It was almost over the truck by now.

He let go a blast. The helicopter zig-zagged, and the shot missed.

"Here!" Hardcastle yelled. Still not taking his eyes off the road he held a couple more shells out of his side window.

Mark reached out and grabbed the shells. He re-loaded the shotgun just as the helicopter passed over their heads. Raising the gun straight up he let go another blast.

This time he scored a direct hit on the tail rotor of the helicopter. The copter passed overhead and started to wobble in the air like a drunken sailor. It continued on for some distance, but then it became clear that the pilot had now lost all control over the machine. It flew off to the right over the desert, all the while losing altitude and starting to spin crazily.

Hardcastle pulled the truck over to the side of the road, and the three watched as the helicopter crashed onto the desert floor with a muffled BOOM. A huge fireball leaped up into the air, and mechanical parts flew everywhere.

As huge clouds of black smoke began to billow up from what was left of the copter, it became obvious that no one could have survived that crash.

Barbara buried her face in her hands, not wanting to look any more at the burning wreck. Mark jumped down from the truck's bed and got back into the cab. He took Barbara in his arms.

"Let's get out of here, Judge," he said.

Hardcastle pulled the truck back onto the highway.

"I guess you were right about these guys not playing games," Mark observed.

Hardcastle just shook his head.

**ACT III**

The trio got into Las Vegas a couple hours later. Hardcastle insisted on going directly to police headquarters near the airport on Las Vegas Blvd. South, and letting them know about the helicopter crash.

When that was done, they went over to the Sahara Hotel, and checked into their rooms. Mark and the Judge shared a room with two twin beds in it, while Barbara had her own room right across the hall.

After they had all settled in, they met down in the hotel's coffee shop to plan strategy.

"Well, where do we go from here?" Mark began, after they had gotten their drinks.

"The Cody Enterprises office building is a couple of blocks back off the Strip," Hardcastle explained. "It's a safe bet that the Coyote is hidden there somewhere. They made sure to get it out of LA as quickly as possible, so that the local authorities there couldn't find it."

"But where could they possibly hide a car in an office building?" Barbara offered.

"They couldn't. More than likely it's somewhere in their parking garage," Mark said.

"But seeing as how hot that car is right now, and how easily recognizable it is, they wouldn't leave it sitting out in plain sight," Hardcastle added. "It must be hidden somewhere."

"That's what we've got to figure out, kemosabe," Mark replied. "Where it's hidden."

Hardcastle thought for a minute.

"Okay, I've got an idea," he finally said.

"Hah!" Mark replied. "Beginner's luck!"

"See? You see what I've had to put up with for the last three years?" Hardcastle groused to Barbara.

"Oh, never mind Mark, Judge," Barbara told him, trying to hide her amusement. "What's your idea?"

"Well, I know this guy named Joe who has an auto body business in town," Hardcastle started to explain. "And there's this second-hand store on East Harmon ..."

The attendant in the security booth at the entrance to the Cody Enterprises parking garage, a young woman who looked to be about twenty or so, was reading a fashion magazine when a tow truck with 'Joe's Auto Body, Las Vegas' painted on the side pulled up to her booth.

"I got a car on the fifth floor that won't start," the driver of the truck - a older, husky fellow in overalls with a white moustache - told her. "Gotta tow it."

"Okay," the attendant replied. She pushed a button that raised the entrance bar.

The tow truck driver gave the attendant a salute and pulled the truck into the garage.

The truck proceeded up to the fifth floor and pulled to a stop. When it did Mark threw off the blanket that had been covering him and squeezed out from behind the seats where he had been hiding. He climbed up into the passenger seat.

"Talk about a facile liar!" he said to the truck driver. "_'Got a car on the fifth floor that won't start_.' And what's with the mustache?"

Hardcastle scratched the fake mustache attached to his upper lip. "Just an extra precaution. Maybe the guy saw me on TV on 'You Be The Judge' a coupla years ago or something. You never know."

"Yeah, right," Mark chuckled.

"Will you get goin'?" Hardcastle told him. "I gotta get out and look like I'm doin' something, because there are probably security cameras all over the place in here!"

Mark sniffed, and started to get out of the truck.

"And put this hat on, so _you_ won't be recognized!" Hardcastle shouted after him. He threw Mark a beat-up old Panama hat that he had gotten at the second-hand store, along with the overalls he was wearing.

Mark deftly caught the hat and placed it gingerly on his head.

"God only knows who wore this hat before," he mumbled to himself. "I hope I don't get lice from it."

He started walking around the garage like he knew where he was going.

When he had made a circuit of the fifth floor he went up to the next floor via the stairwell. He did the same with the seventh floor. When he had finished he headed back down to Hardcastle and the tow truck.

"Anything?" Hardcastle asked him.

"Nope. Not a thing," Mark replied, disappointed.

They both climbed back into the truck.

"And we didn't see anything suspicious on the first four floors on the way up either," Hardcastle lamented. "Maybe it's not here after all."

Mark shrugged, as frustrated as the Judge was. He hid himself back under the blanket behind the seats, and Hardcastle headed the truck back down to the entrance.

Once there he stopped at the security booth again. "Didn't have to tow 'em after all," he told the attendant. "I was able to get him started."

The attendant nodded and waved him on, opening the exit bar. Then she went back to reading her magazine.

Hardcastle exited the garage. He went a short distance and then pulled the truck over just down the street from the garage. Mark climbed out from behind the seats again and took his place in the passenger seat.

"I can't figure this out," Hardcastle said to McCormick. He pulled the fake mustache off his upper lip. "If it's not in the garage, then where else could it be?"

Mark leaned his arm out of the passenger side window and thought. He glanced back at the garage down the street.

"Wait a minute," he finally said.

"What?"

"I went up to the seventh floor of the garage. That was the top floor."

"So?"

"That garage has _eight_ floors."

Hardcastle twisted around in his seat and looked out the rear window of the truck. He counted the floors of the garage.

"You're right. From the outside, that garage has eight floors."

Mark smiled.

"Judge, I think we've found the Coyote."

It was close to 3 AM, but the Strip was still humming with activity. Mark, Barbara and Hardcastle headed for Cody Enterprises in Hardcastle's pickup. They parked a distance away, and walked to within a block of the company's parking garage. Mark was dressed for business in his black pants, black shoes, and black t-shirt. He also carried a backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Mark, are you _sure_ you want to do this?" Barbara asked him.

"There's no other way, B.J.," he replied. "We've got to get the Coyote back, or Flip's legacy will end up in the hands of the company that was responsible for his death. Is that what you want?"

"No," she said solemnly. "But I don't want to see you back in jail again, either."

"No matter what happens, we'll find a way to keep that from happening, missy," Hardcastle told her. "At least I think we will! After all, there's a limit to how many strings even _I _can pull, y'know!"

"Oh, thanks a lot, Judge. You're a real comfort here," Mark told him.

"Just get goin', hot shot," Hardcastle admonished. "We'll stay here as backup."

"Sure. Backup. Right," Mark mumbled, as he ran across the street. He hid for a moment in the shadow of the building there. Then he skirted around to the back of the property. Once in the middle of the block he deftly jumped over a cyclone fence, and then crossed to the back of the Cody Enterprises parking garage.

After a cursory examination of the building he concluded that there was no easy way into it. That being the case, he stooped and pulled the equipment bag from off of his shoulder. He took a long coil of rope attached to a grappling hook out of it. The rope line had knots in it very couple of feet or so. The first floor wall of the garage was solid, but beginning with the second floor the subsequent levels of the garage were partially open air. He stepped back a few paces and threw the grappling hook up to the ledge of the second floor, where it caught.

Pulling on a pair of black gloves, he tugged on the rope to make sure it was secure, and then began to climb up the side of the wall to the second floor.

Once there he slid over the retaining wall and quietly dropped to the floor of the garage. He loosened the grappling hook and stuffed it and the rope back into his shoulder bag.

Sticking to the shadows along the garage walls, he made his way to the stairwell. When he opened the door, he noticed that the stairwell was lit. Concerned about any security cameras that might pick him up in there, he pulled a pair of wire clippers out of his shoulder bag and cut the wire leading to the closest stairwell light. When he did this all the lights in the stairwell blinked out.

"Hopefully they'll just think it was a short or something," he thought to himself. He climbed up the stairwell to the seventh floor, where it stopped.

Exiting out into the garage again he went to the wall where the ramp leading to the next floor would normally be. On this floor it was a dead end. He pulled a little flashlight out of his bag and studied the wall closely.

Aha! There was a narrow seam in the wall that suggested a hidden garage door. Further examination showed a recessed doorknob in the wall off to one side of this door, hidden behind a small sliding metal plate. Mark took a small set of lock pick tools out of his shoulder bag, and worked on picking the lock in the knob. Within a few minutes he succeeded, and the doorknob unlocked.

Putting his tools back in his shoulder bag he gingerly turned the knob, which unlatched a camouflaged entry door in the wall. Once inside this door he found himself in another small stairwell. This stairwell was unlit, and took him up to the next floor. Once there he opened another door and found himself at the head of a long, dark hallway. He traversed this for a short distance until he came upon still another door to his right, which had a small window in it at about eye level through which a light shined. He came up to the window and carefully peeked into it.

There was a large room on the other side of the door which was filled with automotive equipment, and a number of small office cubicles with desks and file cabinets along the far wall where mechanics, artists and engineers could work.

Sitting in the middle of the room, all by itself, was the Coyote.

Mark was so excited to see the car he immediately opened the door, which was unlocked, and stepped into the inner room without his usual caution. Once inside he suddenly found a uniformed security guard sitting in a chair to his immediate right that had not been visible to him through the small door window.

At Mark's entrance the guard immediately stood up and faced Mark. He also put his right hand on top of the gun holstered on his hip.

"Oh, hi!" Mark said, recovering quickly and using his best 'nonchalant' voice. He stuck out his hand to the guard. "Mark McCarthy, Automotive Production. I just got in from our Culver City office to take a look at the little beauty we have here!"

The guard automatically reached out to take Mark's hand. Just as he did Mark brought his right knee up into the guard's groin. When the guard doubled over Mark gave him a karate chop to the back of his neck, and the guard collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

"I've always wanted to do that," Mark thought to himself, "just like in the movies!" He quickly sprinted over to the Coyote, and noticed that the keys were in it. Then he ran over to the large door directly in front of the Coyote that led into the main floor of the garage. Spotting the button that opened it he hit it with his fist and immediately dashed back to the car.

This action, of course, set off an alarm system, which started beeping throughout the building. As the garage door started to roll upward Mark jumped into the driver's seat of the Coyote. He turned the key, gunned the engine, put it into gear and stomped down on the accelerator.

"Man, is this Déja Vu all over again or what?" he mumbled, as the car shot out through the large doorway. This was rapidly bringing back memories of the first time he stole the Coyote from Cody Automotive three years before in Los Angeles - the theft that had brought him and Judge Hardcastle together.

The Coyote zoomed down a short tunnel, until it came to the opening onto the seventh floor of the garage. Fortunately, this overhead door had opened at the same time that the one on the upper floor had. The Coyote squealed into a tight right turn and headed down the corkscrew exit ramp to the sixth floor.

On the way down the ramp to the ground floor the Coyote picked up two tails. Apparently there were plainclothes guards situated throughout the garage specifically to prevent any unauthorized person from taking the Coyote out of the garage. When the burglar alarm had gone off they had sprung into action, their vehicles roaring out of their parking spots on the third and fourth levels to pursue the fleeing race car.

The three vehicles sped downward after each other. One of the pursuers bounced off the ramp's cement wall while trying to jockey for position with the Coyote, crushing in its front passenger side fender. But it kept going.

A minute later the Coyote burst out of the garage and onto the street, catching about ten feet of air as it did so. The car hit the pavement. Its tires squealed loudly as Mark yanked the steering wheel to the left, pulling it into a tight turn. After turning completely sideways and narrowly missing the opposite curb, the race car quickly recovered and sped off down the street.

The two pursuit cars flew out of the building as well. They both jackknifed and headed down the street also, following close behind the Coyote.

When they all blew by where Hardcastle was parked in his pickup, he gunned his engine too and took off after them. Fortunately, at that hour, there was little traffic on this back street.

"Get my gun out of the glove compartment!" Hardcastle yelled to Barbara. She opened the glove box and grabbed the Judge's .45 caliber pistol there, quickly handing it to him. He traded it over to his left hand and pointed it out his open side window at the second pursuit car that was now just a short distance ahead of him.

Aiming as carefully as he could from the speeding truck he let go a couple of rounds.

The first two shots missed. But the third shot was the charm. It hit the left rear tire of the car, blowing it out with a loud _bang_.

First the front end of the car swerved sharply to the left. Then as the remaining rear tire gripped the road again it swerved back to the right. This caused it to tumble over onto its left side. It turned over a couple of times in the middle of the street before finally coming to a stop back in an upright position. The roof was now severely crushed in.

Hardcastle skidded his truck to a stop just behind the wrecked car. He jumped out and ran over to it. The driver inside was still semi-conscious. Hardcastle yanked open his door and dragged him out. He half-pulled, half-carried the man over to the pickup. Once there he leaned the man over onto the pickup's hood, where the man passed out completely.

Just then the car the man had been driving blew up in a massive fireball.

Meanwhile, Mark was still threading the Coyote through the back streets of Las Vegas, trying to stay ahead of the other pursuit car. He came to an intersection and pulled a sharp right turn onto Flamingo Road, one of the major roads in town. The Cody car made the turn too.

The two vehicles roared west down the street, weaving in and out of the few cars that were on the road that time of night. When they came to where Flamingo Road crossed the Strip the traffic light there turned yellow just as Mark shot through the intersection. The light had turned red by the time the Cody car got to it, but the driver kept going anyway. A few cars on Las Vegas Blvd. started through the intersection but stopped abruptly, honking their horns, as the Cody car came careening past them.

Both cars passed the Dunes Hotel on the left, and Caesars Palace on the right. Behind the Dunes was the hotel's huge parking lot. At the last second Mark pulled a quick left turn into it, hoping to lose his pursuer. But the Cody car managed to follow him. Both vehicles sped through the twisting lanes of the parking lot to its rear boundary.

There was an expansive golf course there. Mark ran the Coyote right through the bushes that separated the course from the parking lot, and sped out onto the green. The Cody car went through the hole the Coyote had created and did the same. Both vehicles continued for some distance, the pale moon light being the only illumination on the closed, darkened course.

Mark suddenly came upon one of the large fountain pools situated throughout the course. He jerked his wheel and made a quick turn to the right.

The Cody car, a Chevy sedan not as stable and low to the ground as the Coyote, was not able to turn in time. The car soared over the pool's bank and became airborne for a few yards. Then it splashed down into the pool, coming to a sudden stop right in the middle of it.

Mark roared back onto the street behind the golf course and sped away, as the driver of the Cody car stumbled out of it, up to his thighs in water and cursing loudly.

A little while later Hardcastle and Barbara met Mark at Joe's Auto Body Shop, where they had previously arranged to meet after getting the Coyote back. Joe had made arrangements with them to hide the Coyote in a fenced-in lot behind his shop among the other cars he was working on. After parking it Mark threw a tarp over it. When this was done he climbed into Hardcastle's pickup, and they all headed back to their hotel.

"Well, I must say, being with you two guys certainly keeps a girl from getting bored with life!" Barbara commented. "Do you do this kind of thing all the time?"

"Oh, no," Mark replied, in a mock-sincere tone. "Usually it's _worse_."

"Well anyway," Hardcastle interrupted, "now that we've got the Coyote back, I think we should get out of town as soon as possible. There's no telling _what_ these birds might do next. Once we're back in LA we can regroup, and try to figure out exactly who's behind all this."

"I agree - but I think we should get at least a few hours sleep first, Judge, before we drive all the way back to LA," Mark commented.

"We can do that," Hardcastle concurred. "They won't find the car before then. We can spend the rest of the night - what's left of it - here at the hotel, and then leave in the morning."

The next morning around 9 AM Mark, Barbara and Hardcastle got some breakfast in the Sahara Hotel's coffee shop. When they had finished they started for Hardcastle's pickup truck outside in the parking lot.

"I'll drop you off at Joe's, and you can drive the Coyote back to LA," Hardcastle was saying, talking to Mark.

When they had reached the lobby Barbara abruptly turned to Mark and told him, "I want to use the Ladies' Room once more before we go."

Mark nodded. Barbara headed back down the hallway.

"Typical," Mark said to Hardcastle. Hardcastle grunted in response. He sat down in a nearby chair, and they waited.

And waited.

"She's taking an awfully long time," Mark finally said.

"You know how women are," Hardcastle replied. They waited a few more minutes. Just as Mark was about ready to go looking for Barbara a young kid of about fourteen, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, came over to him.

"You a friend of Barbara Johnson?" the kid asked.

Mark looked quizzically at him

"Yeah," he answered.

"I'm supposed to give this to you," the kid replied. He handed Mark a folded-up note.

The kid walked away as Mark unfolded the piece of paper.

"Oh no," Mark groaned.

This got Hardcastle's attention. "What?" he asked. He stood up.

"Look at this," Mark said, handing the note to Hardcastle.

WE HAVE BARBARA JOHNSON the note read, in neatly printed letters. WE WILL TRADE HER FOR THE COYOTE. GO TO 9575 GREAT BASIN HIGHWAY THIS MORNING AT 10 AM. COME ALONE. ANY SIGN OF COPS AND WE WILL IMMEDIATELY SMOKE HER.

Hardcastle shook his head.

"Whoever these birds are, they just don't give up," he grumbled, total frustration in his voice.

"Judge, you gotta take me to the Coyote," Mark told him.

"You're not gonna go through with this, are you?"

"I have to. Barbara's more important to me than any car."  
>"Well, I'm going with you."<p>

"No, Judge, you can't. They get one look at you waving your shotgun and all, and Barbara won't have a chance. Please. I've got to do this alone."

Hardcastle stared at Mark, with a 'damned if I do, and damned if I don't' expression on his face.

**ACT IV**

Just before 10 o'clock Mark approached the address on the note he had been given. It was a few miles north of Las Vegas on Highway 93. The address was a lush estate out in the desert, surrounded by green lawns, palm trees, and a high stucco wall around its outer circumference.

Mark noticed that there was a large "For Sale" sign posted on the wall.

He pulled the Coyote into the property and drove around its circular driveway, stopping just in front of the entrance to the house, an ornate carved doorway bordered by high columns on both sides.

Two big, burly men wearing black suits and sunglasses came out of the house and walked over to Mark as he climbed out of the Coyote. One immediately threw him against the hood of the car and proceeded to frisk him from head to foot.

"Don't worry, guys, I'm not loaded," Mark quipped.

The two men each took Mark by an arm as if to lead him into the house, but at this additional indignity Mark roughly shook them off.

"Watch it, fellas," he said, in his best macho tone. "This is a new t-shirt." These guys were rapidly bringing his naturally rebellious side to the fore.

One man then pushed Mark forward, and the pair led him into the house.

Inside was a huge, sumptuous entry hall that resembled the lobby of a Las Vegas casino. The two men led Mark into a small office located off to one side.

Inside the office was a large oaken desk, behind which sat a man who bore an amazing resemblance to Martin Cody. The only difference was that this man looked a few years younger.

"I thought I recognized this place," Mark said. "This is Martin Cody's estate."

"Give the man a cigar," the man behind the desk cracked.

"And just who might you be?" Mark asked. "Martin Junior?"

"William Cody. Martin's cousin."

"Disgusted to meet you, Buffalo Bill," Mark shot back. "Where's Barbara?"

The man gestured to one of the two black-suited guards. The guard left the room for a moment. When he came back he had Barbara with him. Her hands were tied behind her back.

"Mark!" she cried when she saw him. She ran over to him.

Mark put his arm around her. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. But her voice betrayed the fear she was feeling.

"And now - the keys to the Coyote?" William asked.

Mark fished them out of his pocket and threw them to Cody, who deftly caught them.

"Excellent," Cody said.

"You've got quite an operation," Mark told him. "I especially liked the maneuver with that truck that tried to waylay us on the way into Vegas."

Cody leaned back in his chair. "Thank you. We do what we can to stay on top. And your Coyote should succeed in putting us back there, once we are able to sell it to the highest bidder."

"I can see from the 'For Sale' sign out front that you apparently need the money."

"Yes. Unfortunately, we do. My cousin ending up in jail for the rest of his life didn't exactly do Cody Enterprises any good on the stock market. But that should change now. Once the public gets a load of the slightly re-designed Coyote, we should have no trouble regaining our former status in the marketplace. Your friend Flip Johnson really _was_ an excellent designer of hip, innovative sports cars."

"Yeah, he was," Mark replied. "Too bad he had to get mixed up with a den of vipers like you and your family."

Cody ignored this comment and again addressed one of his guards. "Sully, if you please, take our two friends here out into the desert and shoot them. Make sure you bury them where no one will ever find them."

At this Sully pulled a large pistol out of his suit coat and stuck it in Mark's back.

"Hey, that wasn't the deal!" Mark protested.

"Mr. McCormick, I said I would trade you Miss Johnson for the Coyote," Cody replied. "I didn't mention anything about what might happen to you _after _you got her back, now did I?"

"Let's go, sport," Sully growled.

Barbara and Mark turned and exited the office, Sully following right behind them. He led them at the point of his gun out a back door of the estate to an outdoor patio. A four-wheel drive jeep was parked nearby. Sully stripped off his coat and tie and laid them on a nearby patio chair.

"You can drive, sport," he said to Mark. "But keep in mind that one wrong move and your girlfriend gets it right away."

Sully got in the back of the jeep, his gun still at the ready, while Mark climbed into the driver's seat. Barbara got in next to him.

"Don't worry," Mark whispered to Barbara as he started the engine. "We'll get outta this. I promise."

Mark drove the jeep out into the desert, as per Sully's instructions. After they had driven for about half an hour, Sully told him to stop.

"This place is as good as any," Sully announced. He climbed out of the back of the jeep, motioning Mark and Barbara to do the same. He got a long-handled shovel out of the back of the jeep and tossed it to McCormick.

"Here, sport," he said.

Mark looked at the shovel. "What's this for?" he asked.

"You don't think _I'm_ going to dig you two a hole in this heat, do you?" Sully told him. He pointed to the ground. "Start digging." As if for emphasis he held up his pistol.

"All right, all right," Mark said.

"Make it a nice big hole, too," Sully said, a nasty grin on his face. "It's gotta be big enough for the both of you." He leaned up against the side of the jeep to watch.

Barbara stood nearby, her hands still tied behind her back, as Mark started digging. When he had dug the hole about waist deep Sully reached over and pulled a canteen out of the back of the jeep.

"Just watching you is making me thirsty," Sully said. He took a long drink from the canteen.

Mark stopped digging.

"Hey, can I have a swig of that?" he demanded. "Look, if I pass out from heat exhaustion you're going to have to finish this job anyway."

Sully couldn't deny that logic. "All right," he said. He came over to Mark and held out the canteen to him.

When he was close enough Mark threw a shovelful of dirt up into his face. Sully yelled and staggered backwards, dropping his gun and rubbing his eyes. Mark leaped up out of the hole and grabbed Sully's gun off the ground.

"Okay, sport!" Mark said, now holding the gun on his former captor. "Hands up!"

Barbara rushed over to him.

"I _told _you we'd get outta this!" Mark told her.

After tying Sully up and leaving him sitting in the shade of a small rock formation, Mark took the jeep and headed back toward the Cody estate.

"But Mark, why are we going back there?" Barbara asked him. "Why don't we just head back into town and get the police?"

"Because something still isn't right here," Mark told her. "I don't think Wild Bill Cody is the real brains behind this escapade. Somebody else is pulling his strings."

"Why do you think that?"

"Remember when I made that comment at the house about the 'truck that waylaid us on the way into Vegas'? Well, it was a helicopter, not a truck. But Billy boy didn't know that. I don't think he had anything to do with it. I think someone _else_ used him at the house as a blind to hide behind."

"But who?" Barbara asked.

"I have an idea," Mark replied. "But I need to prove it."

When they were within a few hundred yards or so of the house Mark stopped the jeep and got out.

"Maybe you'd better stay here," he said to Barbara.

She climbed down too. "Not on your life!" she said, smiling at him. "I'm not staying out here all by myself with all these snakes and scorpions and heat! Where you go, _I_ go!"

Mark knew that he wasn't going to win this argument. "Okay, but stay behind me," he conceded. He pulled out Sully's gun.

They both headed toward the estate. When they reached the wall around it they snuck in the rear entrance and, crossing to the outdoor patio, sidled up to the side of the house.

Mark told Barbara to stay where she was, and he slid along the side of the building until he came to the window of the room where they had spoken to Cody earlier. He carefully peeked in.

Cody was still there, working at his desk.

Mark went back to the patio.

"The other guard is standing outside of Cody's office," Barbara whispered to him when he got back there.

Mark thought for a minute.

"Okay, I've got an idea," he finally said. "B.J., I want you to go inside and just nonchalantly walk past the guard like you're out for an afternoon stroll."

"What?" she said, a quizzical look on her face.

"Just do as I say," Mark told her. "I'll do the rest."

Reluctantly, Barbara went inside. When she went by the guard he looked stunned for a moment. Then he came after her, grabbing her by the arm.

"Hold on a minute, you," he told her.

Just then Mark came up behind him and slugged him over the head with the butt of Sully's pistol. The man dropped to the floor like a stone.

Mark winked at Barbara. He bent down and retrieved the fallen man's pistol from the shoulder holster under his jacket. Then, pushing Barbara behind him, he put one hand on the knob of the door to Cody's office.

He threw the door open and stepped inside, holding both pistols up, looking just like Tom Tyler in the old western movie he had seen back at Gull's Way.

Cody looked up.

"Well, well, we meet again, Buffalo Bill!" Mark said. "Get 'em up!"

Cody looked surprisingly unruffled.

"How did _you_ get back here?" he asked calmly.

"Oh, that's not important," Mark replied. "Your men had a couple little accidents, that's all."

"What do you want?" Cody continued.

"I want to know who your boss is," Mark told him.

"My boss?"

"Yes, your boss. The one you get your instructions from. The one who's been coordinating this whole thing from the beginning from behind the scenes."

"Very well, Mr. McCormick," came a voice from behind him. "Turn around and meet his boss. And do be so kind as to drop your weapons while you're at it."

Mark slowly swiveled his head around.

A tall, very attractive blonde woman who looked like a fashion model was standing in the office doorway, holding a pistol against Barbara's head.

Mark slowly bent down and placed both his pistols on the floor.

"Get them," the woman ordered Cody, indicating the guns. Cody got up from his desk and picked up the weapons. He put one in his waistband, and pointed the other one at Mark.

Mark stood up and turned all the way around to face the woman.

"And you are?" he asked.

"Sahara Cody," the woman replied. "Martin Cody's wife."

"That explains a lot," Mark said.

"It certainly does," Mrs. Cody responded. "You ruined my life, Mr. McCormick. When you sent my husband to jail you condemned me to not only to a future full of overdue bills, unpaid mortgages and a failing company, but you also embarrassed me in front of all my high-profile friends in high society. No longer being able to afford the lifestyle to which I have become accustomed is one thing - but humiliating me in front of my peers is something else altogether. I cannot forgive that. Ever."

Mark could see the utter hatred for him seething behind Sahara Cody's beautiful blue eyes. He couldn't help thinking about how Hell possessed no fury like that of a woman whose extravagant lifestyle had been suddenly taken away from her.

"What do we do with them?" William asked.

"We finish the job that your idiot guards bungled," Mrs. Cody said. She pulled Barbara back out into the foyer, kicking aside the still-unconscious guard out there as she did so. William waved his pistol at Mark, indicating that he follow.

They were both led out of the estate's front door to a long white stretch limo parked off to one side.

"Get in!" Mrs. Cody commanded her prisoner.

Just then sirens started to wail, seemingly coming from every direction. A half-dozen police cars suddenly came roaring up the highway from both directions, jerking to a stop just outside the walls of the estate.

"It's a trap!" Sahara shouted. She pushed Barbara to the ground and jumped into the front passenger seat of the limo herself. William did the same, shoving Mark aside and jumping into the driver's seat.

William gunned the engine. The limo's tires squealed, and it shot forward down the circular driveway. Hardcastle and a couple of police officers were just coming up the drive, waving pistols. They all had to jump aside as the limo sped through them, almost running them over.

Mark got up from the ground and sprinted over to Barbara.

"Are you all right, B.J.?" he asked her.

"Yes, I'm fine!" she replied. "You've got to get them! You can't let them get away!"

Just then Hardcastle came running up to them both.

"Are you kids all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, Judge, fine!" Mark told him. "It's about time you got here! Take care of Barbara!" He pulled a set of spare keys to the Coyote out of his pocket and raced over to the sports car, which was parked nearby.

He jumped into the driver's seat. Turning the key in the ignition he revved the engine up.

Seconds later the Coyote came bursting out of the estate's driveway. It literally flew through the air over the curb, hitting the pavement out in the middle of the street. Recovering immediately it twisted around and screamed off down the highway after the limo.

The limo had a good head start. But Mark stomped down on the Coyote's accelerator pedal and shifted the car into high gear.

The Coyote's engine roared, as Mark pushed it to give him all she had.

"He's following us!" Sahara shouted to her cousin. William glanced into his rear view mirror and saw the bright red race car rapidly gaining on him.

Now panicked, he pulled the pistol out of his waistband with his right hand and tried to fire it back out his side window at the Coyote. Of course in that awkward position he could not aim, and his shots went completely wild.

"Give me the gun!" Sahara yelled. She reached over in front of William and tried to grab the gun from his hand. This action made it hard for William to maintain the position of the steering wheel, and his view of the road was also momentarily obscured.

The car swerved. Going as fast as it was it couldn't keep the road with the sudden change in the wheel.

The limo turned sideways and completely flipped over. It rolled over and over, crushing itself into a mangled hulk. By the time it finally came to rest it was pretty much completely destroyed.

Mark pulled the Coyote to a stop nearby. He jumped out and ran over to the wreck.

He could tell right away that no one was going to be pulled out of that mess alive.

**EPILOGUE**

Later that afternoon Barbara, Mark, and Hardcastle were back in the coffee shop at the Sahara Hotel, after hours of filling out forms and being interviewed by the Las Vegas police.

"Well kids, it appears that you shouldn't be having any further problems with Cody Automotive," Hardcastle was saying. "With Cousin Willie and Mrs. Cody now in that big automotive graveyard in the sky, and Martin all nicely tucked away in the House of Many Doors for the rest of his natural life, there aren't any other members of the Cody family left to give you any trouble. It's only a matter of time now before Cody Enterprises closes its doors for good."

"Martin didn't have any kids?" Barbara asked.

"No kids."

Mark turned to Barbara. "B.J., have _you_ ever thought about mass-producing the Coyote? You could make a lot of money with it."

Barbara shook her head. "No, not really," she replied. "I'm not really into the automotive thing like my father was. The Coyote was _his_ car. And now it's yours, Mark. I'm satisfied to leave it at that. Besides, I've got my future legal career to focus on now."

"Yeah, me too!" Mark agreed. "Hey, maybe we could eventually hang a shingle out together - you know, like, 'Johnson & McCormick, repossessions our specialty!'"

"You better graduate from law school first, kiddo," Hardcastle reminded him. "At the rate you're going, Barbara will be retiring just about when you're first getting started!"

Barbara laughed at this.

"You see what I have to put up with here?" Mark groused.

Hardcastle ignored that. He looked at his watch. "Well, it's just about coming up on chow time," he said. "How about we all go somewhere nice and get a big fat steak for dinner?"

"Judge, it's been a _long_ night and a _longer_ day," Mark replied. He gave out with a big yawn. "Frankly, I think I'd rather just go back to the room right now and get some shuteye for the next few hours. We can go out later."

"I agree," Barbara added. "I'm pretty beat myself. Trying to keep up with you guys can really wear a girl out!"

"All right, party poopers!" Hardcastle snapped. "I'm twice your age, and I'm not tired! You two go to bed. I'll go gambling or something for a while, until you can both somehow find the energy to eventually go out with me and enjoy the exciting Las Vegas lifestyle!"

Mark and Barbara both smiled lamely. They got up from the booth and headed back to their rooms, leaving Hardcastle behind.

After a minute the Judge got up too, and made his way outside to the Sahara's parking lot. As he did, he noticed a couple of big bruisers in suits off to one side trying to manhandle another man dressed in a tuxedo. He walked over to investigate.

"Hey, what are you guys doing?" he challenged.

"What's it to you, pops?" one of the bruisers replied.

Hardcastle held up his ID card with the police badge attached to it that he had been given at his retirement party.

"I'm Judge Milton C. Hardcastle. That all right with you, sonny?" he replied.

At this revelation the two men backed off. They both scurried away.

"Thanks a lot, Judge," the rescued man said, straightening his coat and tie. He was a nice-looking man, probably in his early 50s, with dark hair that had a tinge of gray at the temples.

"Glad to help," Hardcastle told him. Both men shook hands.

"And you are?" Hardcastle asked.

"Solo," the man replied. "Napoleon Solo."

_Hmph_ Hardcastle thought to himself. _That's an odd name._

The men parted, and Hardcastle headed for his pickup.

The other man stepped back into the shadow of the hotel building, where he pulled a shiny silver pen out of his pocket. He pulled the cover off the pen, reversed it, and then pulled up a little antenna from the barrel.

"Open Channel D," he said into the pen.

Meanwhile, Hardcastle climbed into the cab of his pickup truck. He pulled some brochures about Vegas out of the glove compartment. After looking them all over, he sat back and crossed his arms while he thought about what exciting thing he could do in the City That Never Sleeps.

Before long, he was fast asleep.

THE END


End file.
